The Final Word
by sohna
Summary: Near the end of her life, Leia reflects on her own destiny. Inspired by a desire to counteract the EU authors' race to kill off everyone.
1. Part 1

_This story in three parts was written in response to an announcement that a Star Wars extended universe author intends to write "the final word" by killing off Luke, a part of the already heated EU writers' race to see which of them can make the characters die off and/or suffer the most.  
_

Part 1

The final moments; the end of her long life was at hand - she could feel its measured approach. She had the ability to stave it off for a few meager weeks, but in truth, there was no point. Death was something she'd looked forward to for too many years now, a release longed-for, and she faced its welcoming embrace like a child turning his face to the sun for warmth. But as she prepared to consign herself to the Force, a single, niggling doubt crept in. There was, she knew, one aspect of her existence she had never adequately come to terms with, and she could not, in good conscience, withdraw from her painful life without addressing that shortfall: She had never managed to forgive her father.

Oh, the hatred she had once felt for all he'd done was gone; with her brother's help, she'd managed to banish that. But forgiveness was more difficult, considering the history they'd shared before either had known of the paternal relationship. Yet forgiveness was what was required, she realized - knowing she'd be unable to will herself into oneness with the Force without it. The sheer tenacity of her resentment had always held her back from a full demonstration of her Force-ability (or perhaps she'd held herself back subconsciously as punishment for her lack). Death would eventually come, but it would be a painful, lingering, and unpleasant death. So, with the matter-of-fact bluntness and bald-faced courage that was her trademark (and which, had she known it, she'd inherited wholesale from her unforgiven father), she squarely faced her last trial, determined to smite her resentment asunder.

It was not as easy as it sounded. Her beloved brother, now dead these many years, had found forgiveness in his heart almost immediately. He'd had the special gift of being able to see the best in everyone, regardless of their present condition, and to translate this ability into not only forgiveness, but love. He'd managed not only to salvage the last dregs of humanity from their father, but to return the woman he'd later married from the darkness as well. But, as she'd often lamented, Leia was not her twin brother. Her faith was just not that strong; she required facts.

Unfortunately, she knew, the only facts about her father she'd ever had at her disposal were all negative, except for her brother's final report. And, for all she never doubted her brother's word, she herself had not been present to witness their father's heroic dying act, whereas she _had_ been painfully present during several of his more heinous transgressions. And where, in another time and place, she might have been able to retrieve some bare information about her father's early good deeds from the holonet, that information was sorely lacking as well, erased in total when she was still a baby by the very man she now needed it to understand.

Leia stared down at the lightsaber she'd constructed under her brother's tutelage, at her initials engraved inside the lip of the cowling:_ L.O.S._ She would have to call the visions; meditate until the Force showed her the past she'd always refused to face: her parents' - her real parents' - past, which she was, to put it bluntly (but truthfully, she admitted resolutely), afraid to see. The excuse she'd always given herself was that she needed to keep those visions at bay lest she be swept into hatred for the man whose name she refused to call her own all over again, which she was afraid might happen if she allowed herself to witness his descent into darkness. There was nothing she could imagine that should have tempted him to choose such evil and temporal power over love, yet he had obviously done so. She really didn't think that knowing the sordid details could possibly help her forgive him, but there was nothing else to be done. She had to at least try. At least, she reflected, she no longer had anything left to lose.

She closed her eyes in meditation, settling herself as for her usual session. When she was comfortable enough there, cautiously, she opened her mind just a sliver, hesitantly releasing herself to whatever the Force might need to show her. But she was not quite prepared for the onslaught.

The gritty childhood of a boy born into slavery passed into her view. She saw him grow, loved by his long-suffering mother, finally freeing himself with a selfless act, leaving to join the Jedi. Hope and death both surrounded him, and watching from her isolated vantage point, she saw him for what he was: a vortex where evil and good came together and vied for supremacy, the catalyst of a cosmic battle. She saw him grown, saw him fall in love; felt with him the terrible guilt of his mother's death. His dark reaction she now saw as preordained from a battle waged over his soul years before the event; a battle in which he himself had not been allowed to participate. She choked, sobbing, overcome with raw emotion, and broke the connection, lying down on the floor, exhausted. She understood him now, understood also why her brother had always been so concerned about her own ability to withstand the dark side. Their father was not the emperor's reflection, as she'd always assumed. Luke had been right about him. How sad that she had refused to see that for so many years, kept in blithe ignorance by her own fear. She felt ashamed. And in her shame, her penitence, her exhaustion, an old woman, she fell asleep.

And dreamed ...

_We can keep it a secret ... a secret ... a secret ... This is the happiest day of my life ... happiest day ... You die in childbirth ... I won't let it happen._

_Become my apprentice ... Just help me save Padme's life ..._

Her eyes snapped open, hot with tears as she gasped for air. "No!" she thought, realizing only belatedly that she'd also spoken aloud. "No, that can't ..." but she knew without a doubt that it was, in fact, the horrible truth. Her father had turned to the dark side out of love for her mother. In an act of final desperation, with nothing left to live for, he'd sold his soul to save her life - for all that it had been in vain.

Was she, then, any different? If given the smallest glimmer of hope that she could have saved the lives of her children, or her husband, or her brother (or, she thought somberly, the people of Alderaan) - would she have chosen differently? She was honest enough to know she would have done as her father had. She would.

Except that there were, of course, the matter of his evil deeds. Her own experiences with her father twenty years after his choice aside, the cries of the children who'd trusted him - children he'd ruthlessly sacrificed less than an hour after his decision was made - still rang in her heart. And, while acknowledging that she'd make the same desperate choice, she knew also that she would never be able to carry through with it once she knew what was required. Yet, oddly, even this she now understood, now that she'd seen the whole man and knew the whole story. He'd been born a slave, and had remained one all his life - not just to the Hutts and later to the emperor as Vader, but for all the time in between as well. He was, more than anyone before or since, a slave to destiny. His soul had been at the center of a maelstrom - an imbalance in the Force, which had required his sacrifice to set right. But despite his destined role, her father was no god - he was a man like any other. So in the end, he'd gotten it wrong - and assumed the cosmic aberration as his own. He'd come to believe that he himself must be evil. Once he had accepted that, he could do evil deeds - because that was what an evil person did; it required no thought or consideration - once he had turned, he had, in effect, given up fighting against the current. The battle had tipped towards evil thirteen years before; the selfless boy had descended into hell. It had not escaped Leia's notice that her father's screams had been mixed in with those of the children he'd killed. He had been lost; the screams the death throes of a good man's soul. No, it was no real wonder that her father had been lost in just that way. What astounded her was that her brother had somehow been able to reach him all those years later, and convince him of his lost goodness. _That_ was the true surprise. He had been reached. Peace had been restored to the galaxy; balance returned to the Force. She had been wrong to doubt her father. Forgiveness was not simply possible, it was automatic; this obstacle to her own full potential no longer existed. Unfortunately, however, the very ease with which it was removed set a larger block in her path: She could not now forgive the Force itself for treating her father - or anyone - in such a callous manner.

He had been no more than a pawn for the Force to use. Yes, one could argue that he still had free will, but in truth the boy had been lost since the end of the battle of fate. He was unprepared, not properly trained for the unique role he had to play. Nor were there any left capable of training him. The battle itself had ensured that the only person remaining who knew the true state of the cosmos was firmly on the side of evil. Obi-Wan had done the best he could with what he'd had, but it wasn't enough; with time he might - would - have become the teacher her father had needed, but he was only a fresh graduate himself, and though a talented Jedi and excellent role model, he lacked the experience to train someone whose needs were unprecedented. She did not blame him. Nor did she blame the old Jedi Order, who admitted their reservations about his training from the beginning. Yes, they had gone through with it, but what choice, really, had they had? If they had refused, the Sith Lord would simply have been waiting at the door to the temple to collect what they had cast off - by then, old Palpatine was already aware of her father's existence and what he represented.

But the callousness of the Force towards her family had not ended there. Alderaan had to fall before it was satisfied. Alderaan, a peaceful, good, weaponless planet. Billions of people, sacrificed. The Empire had been responsible, yes, but behind that was the Force. Her brother could not have reached their father in time to prevent that - neither had known of the other's existence. And while she had, in some sense, known her father as an acquaintance, there had been nothing up until that time that suggested - even after the fact - that she could have done the same; no lost opportunity presented itself to her, even now after years of reflection.

With a wrench, she stopped the thought, grimacing, and swallowed. The block had not originated with the revelation about her father, she realized. It had been there a long time - years, since her homeworld was first destroyed. She'd buried it; the Force had provided a long-lost twin brother for her as compensation. But the resentment had never gone away. Luke might have been some compensation for her alone, but he could not substitute for the countless who'd died or lost loved ones in the attack. And, try as she would to push the thoughts away - even Alderaan wasn't the end of the matter.

Her own life had been singularly painful. She had not only lost the only parents she'd ever really known in a tragic disaster, she'd lost everyone else close to her as well - her husband, her three children, and her brother. It was as if she was meant to pay for the transgressions her father had committed before his redemption. She felt guilty for thinking so - it seemed trivial in comparison to the destruction of Alderaan - but the resentment over it filled her nonetheless. None of it made sense, she thought. Why should her children be taken so early? What had they done? And why her brother - her wonderful, patient brother, who had brought their father back to the light? None of it was fair. (_Life isn't fair_, someone else's voice said in her mind. She'd repeated it to herself enough in the past, and even acknowledged it to be true. But she'd always believed it in a random sense, unlike what she was uncovering about her family. Some sort of intelligence had been required at the onset to know that balance needed restoring - taken in that light, her family's treatment seemed singularly cruel.)

It was no use, she thought bitterly. She supposed she was doomed to die a slow, lingering death, full of pain as her life had been. Understanding her father had not been the root of her problem after all. She sighed and closed her eyes.

And then opened them as she felt a familiar presence nearby.

"Leia, you can't just give up," said her brother. He knelt in front of her, the blue glow of his incorporeal form casting a shadowless light in a small circle around them. His features remained comparatively young, though they were twins, frozen at the age he'd been when he'd died those many years ago.

"Go away," she said coldly.

"Leia ..."

"You're not here," she told him bluntly. "It's been too long. That's what Obi-Wan told you, isn't it? You get ten, fifteen years, at the most and then you have to move on. You're past your expiration date, Luke. You're not really here; you're just my imagination - my wishful thinking." Her eyes began to tear up. "Go away."

He sighed and regarded her, crossing his arms, but he didn't disappear. She glared at him.

"If you believe it's not me," he finally said, "Then you _really_ can't just give up."

She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head away, determined to ignore him if he wouldn't do as she wished.

"Because if I'm just your imagination," he continued, "Then it's you telling yourself to not give up."

Exasperated, she turned on him.

"Why?" she demanded hotly. "So I can go on suffering like this? Isn't the Force done with me yet? Is that it?"

He said nothing, simply regarded her with a pitying look, and waited.

"That's my role, isn't it?" she spat at him viciously. "To suffer. To_ pay_ for Vader's sins? I don't know why it took me so long to see that, but that has to be what it is. It's not like I had any other destiny."

"You know we both of us were destined ..."

"No _we_ weren't," she interrupted. "YOU were. Not me. Never me. I've always just been the spare - and since a spare wasn't needed, I did just fine and dandy as the whipping boy."

"No, Leia ..."

"YES!" she insisted. "Look at the facts, Luke. What did I do, really, that someone else in the Alliance couldn't have done just as well? Nothing! You were the only one of us necessary. The only role left - the only one that makes any sense, considering what my whole life has been like, is that I was created to take the punishment for Vader's actions."

He was silent for a moment, regarding her, and she knew he was just waiting to see if she was finished speaking. Finally he said quietly, "Maybe you have some other role you haven't considered yet."

She rolled her eyes.

"_Maybe?_" she repeated sarcastically.

He had the grace to look away, but he said, "I didn't say it as a platitude, Leia." He looked back at her. "The Force is strong in our family. Stronger than in any other. Think beyond the obvious. If you've seen something out of balance, what would be necessary to fix it?"

She stared at him, unable to believe he was so naive.

"Are you kidding?" she said at last. "I'd have to change the past!"

He regarded her steadily.

"Well, then?" he prompted.

She blinked.

"What?"

"Change the past."

"You mean I can?"

"You don't know unless you try."

"Oh," she said dully, the small spark of hope that had kindled within her extinguished. "And here I thought you were telling me you knew."

"It's not me, remember?" he needled her. "It's just your own imagination. Your own hope, incidentally. You thought of it, not me. I'm past my expiration date."

She looked away in disgust.

"Thanks a lot, Luke," she said, sarcasm back in her voice. "That was _so_ helpful."

Her voice fell on silence. When she looked back, her brother's ghost was gone. Tears welled up at the separation; she'd long ago passed the period of dull listlessness. The pain of her loss was real and hurt whether she confronted it or not.

"He wasn't really here anyway," she said, trying to console herself, and failing miserably. _He should have been,_ she couldn't help thinking._ And not as a ghost. He should have been here himself - all of us should._ After a moment, she conscientiously added, _including our real father._ And the injustice of it all threatened to overwhelm her once again.

Only this time a small doubt crept in.

She tried to shove it away, that suggestion her brother (or had it been herself?) had made. No one could change the past (could they?). She didn't want the hope, especially for something so ridiculous it was doomed to failure (wasn't it?). She was not going to hope it would work - she was in enough pain already without adding to it needlessly herself. She would not hope. She wouldn't.

But she could prove to herself that it wouldn't work. (Did she think that?)

She huffed and bit her lip.

_Okay,_ she thought. _Yes, I can do that. I can prove it won't work (but it's going to hurt anyway when it doesn't). That's okay, if I don't try I'll never stop hoping it would have worked anyway. It's going to be unpleasant enough as it is, without adding that to it._

It wasn't terribly difficult to decide what it was that she must change. The moment had seemed so obvious to her, looking back with the foreknowledge she had. And it had to be a single moment - choices, happenstance - they were all dependent on each other - she could only change one; it had to count. Thwarting her father's fateful decision would require more than simply stopping him at that instant; Palpatine already had him - had had him for a long time - he'd simply try again and the outcome would be the same. She had to stop him before Palpatine entered her father's picture. With that in mind, there was only one thing she could change that had a chance of altering the outcome.

She closed her eyes, trying to center herself once more in the Force (the hated Force). Did it really mean for her to do this (why not?). Why put her through all that just so that she would?_ (Because if you had anything left to live for, you wouldn't want it changed, idiot!)_

Her eyes snapped open. If it worked, she might not exist, she realized. If Palpatine had not poisoned her father's mind against the Jedi Code, he might have remained celibate no matter what he felt for her mother. And while right now nonexistence sounded sublime to her, did she really have the right to do that to her brother? Yes, his life had ended too quickly, but he'd been reasonably happy up until then. She didn't really think what she was considering would work, but suppose it did? Could she do that? Did she have the right to do it?

_Do you really have to even ask?_ she heard the echo of Luke's voice in her head. _If it could save him? Not to mention countless others - you know, like the entire population of Alderaan ..._

She took a deep breath and let it out. If there was any chance at all it could work, she'd have to go very deep within the Force; deeper than she'd ever allowed herself to go. And she was not happy with the hand that had been dealt her (she stoically directed herself _not_ to think of her long-dead husband when she used that metaphor). It was possible she could end up lost in the darkness if it did not work - her anger at the futility, the unfairness of their family's lot, the callousness of the Force (and not even to her family, but to all of Alderaan, and all Palpatine's victims). There would then be nothing for her; she would be dead, lost (although there might be the same nothingness even if she won).

It was only then that she knew what had really held her back all these years - the fear that she would somehow turn out like her father had. And now the moment was upon her. She would have to let go; there was absolutely no chance the gambit would work if she did not. She was either dark or she was not, there would be no denying it.

In her mind's eye she saw her husband's crooked smile and laughing eyes, as he had looked before he'd lost Chewie. She remembered how he'd looked when she'd first seen him, all indignant and gorgeous. He'd told her she'd had him hooked the moment she'd grabbed Luke's blaster and blown a hole in the wall. She remembered his smart-assed reply when she'd finally told him she loved him, just before she was certain he was about to be killed. She remembered his astonished and impressed reaction when he'd found out exactly what she had done to get him back.

So what are you waiting for, Sweetheart? she heard his voice ask. Sounds like just another day in the life of royalty to me.

She smiled as she closed her eyes, centered herself, and finally let go.


	2. Part 2

_Author's Note: I know this part of the story seems, at first glance, to be a rewrite of the movie script. I also know that whenever I see that in someone's story, my eyes glaze over and I skip down to the first original scene below it. In this case, however, there are changes within this scene, which is why it's "redone" here. I didn't feel I could adequately address those changes without showing the entire scene, which is why it's all here. If you skip to the bottom you will miss what changed and how, and it might get a bit confusing._

* * *

Part II 

Qui-Gon Jinn glanced to his right, making sure Anakin was still in the cockpit where he'd told him to stay. He hadn't been entirely sure the boy would follow his order; he knew he hadn't wanted to. Training him was going to be a very different experience from training his current padawan, that much was certain.

His eyes flicked back to the front, raking across his surroundings. The momentary thought about the Chosen One had taken only a fraction of a second; his senses were keen and alert. The small task group had gained the hangar bay of the palace easily enough; it should be a short matter to reach the throne room through the city power center - the queen had codes to the inner doors that would let them through that way. But something felt out of place. He'd thought at first it might be the boy trying to follow, but evidently it was not - and the more he examined it, the more he realized it couldn't possibly be the boy. It felt more like ...

The door before them swished open to reveal a single figure silhouetted inside: A man in a hooded cloak, dressed all in black. The hood masked his features, but the Force signature was unmistakable: It was the Sith Lord he'd fought on Tatooine.

"We'll handle this," he told the queen quietly.

Amidala accepted his statement without question.

"We'll take the long way," she told the others. They darted off to the left, leaving Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan alone with their adversary.

The Sith removed his hood, allowing Qui-Gon a first good look at his face. On Tatooine, he'd simply gotten a blurred impression of bright red skin with some dark markings; now he saw that the man was a Zabrak who had evidently tattooed his entire head - arcane black symbols on a red ground. The effect was horrifying, as it was doubtless meant to be. Before him, the tattooed man removed his cloak, drawing out a lightsaber with an unusually long hilt.

In unison, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan shed their cloaks as well, powering their weapons on even as the man before him powered his. As the red blades shot from both ends of his weapon, the older Jedi raised an eyebrow. The Jedi swordmaster had such a weapon, though he rarely used it. Some of the more avid swordsmen had trained with him on it, but neither Qui-Gon nor Obi-Wan was one of them. It could prove deadly against a single opponent in the hands of someone who knew how to use it, the swordsmaster had informed him when he'd related the struggle he'd had in his fight on Tatooine. Fortunately for now, he thought, he and Obi-Wan made a good team.

All this passed through his mind as the Sith Lord leapt to engage them. Obi-Wan vaulted forward, attacking from the enemy's rear. They parried the red blade in tandem, swords clashing, then thrust forward to meet their opponent once more. Over and over again they fought, the sound of the energy beam fight behind them of little consequence, so focused were they on their duel; nothing approached them from behind, that much they both knew, and that was all they needed to know for now.

The hangar bay quieted, the only sound the locking of their blades as they struck. He and Obi-Wan pushed forward; the Sith fell back along a littered path; Qui-Gon felt the rise in the Living Force; the battle had turned in their favor, at least for the moment. But the enemy didn't falter. He Force-pushed the debris out of his way and ducked inside the door from which he'd entered. Both of the Jedi ran after him.

The inside of the power plant was a cavernous space, traversed by catwalks at various heights, suspended over the central power core far below. They met their quarry on a widened area on one of the catwalks which formed a small platform. He countered their blows easily, but the two managed to push him back into a corner, with nothing behind him except the abyss. They moved in closer ...

And he Force-leapt onto an overhead catwalk, back-flipping easily to land balanced and ready for them. Again, together, they followed.

The fight grew more heated and intense as they pushed on. The Sith Lord retreated, but the catwalks were endless. Back and forth, back and forth, their blades clashed and sang. A pillar drew near to the enemy's back. He sensed it, altering his move. Qui-Gon felt the change coming and parried; Obi-Wan was not so lucky. He blocked the saber blow but lost his footing. And as he fell, the dark lord kicked him into empty space. His master felt him fall ...

But pressed his own advantage, not permitting himself to be distracted. Instead he renewed his own attack, knowing he would now have to make up for two until Obi-Wan could rejoin him - if the Force willed that he should.

The lack of reaction surprised the Sith Lord, and he fell back. Qui-Gon took advantage of his lapse, and knocked him over the edge as well; unlike the Jedi Master's apprentice, however, the dark lord landed on his feet on the walkway immediately below. Qui-Gon braced himself to follow ...

And stopped abruptly as an old woman appeared before him, her hand held up in restraint, the expression on her ancient features grave and imperious. He drew back, blinking, wondering if what he was seeing was real - surely no one could stand where she stood - as he studied her, he saw that the hem of her robe (he couldn't see her feet) hung out over the abyss. But he also saw that her robe was that of a Jedi - a pure, unbleached white, though not as white as the long hair she wore braided on the crown of her head.

He chanced a look beyond her, seeing the Sith Lord standing on the catwalk below, staring up, waiting. He realized the other man could also see the apparition - for she was no more substantial than a thick gauze curtain. Glancing back at her face, he saw that her deeply hooded dark brown eyes were now closed in silent meditation. Her hand remained in the same position, however: palm facing him, the hand sign for _stop_. Clearly she intended to prevent him from pursuing the Sith Lord. But why?

A movement from further down on the lower catwalk caught his attention. Obi-Wan had recovered from his fall, his master was glad to see. His eyes snapped back to the ghostly woman, but she had disappeared. He pondered this momentarily, suddenly realizing she'd meant for him to wait for Obi-Wan, and, as one, they leapt down to the ledge to meet him.

The Sith Lord had seen everything, of course, and had by now retreated to the far end of the narrow walkway. They ran after him together.

He ducked inside a service hatchway before they could reach him. As they entered the confined area, a laser shield suddenly appeared between them and their quarry. He whirled to face them on its opposite side, snarling into their faces as he tapped the shield with the end of his light saber. Both knew he was trying to rile them; trying to bring them to anger. Both knew the danger that posed - the man before him used anger to fuel his dark use of the Force; should they react in anger, it would benefit him, not themselves. Deliberately, Qui-Gon knelt, closing his eyes in silent meditation to connect more fully once again with the Living Force. Beside him, he felt Obi-Wan follow his example.

The force-field cycled through and winked out. Both men leapt through the opening, again just missing their quarry, who had no doubt felt the cycle ending in the Force as they had. They met up with him in a circular chamber where the access corridor ended - a smelting pit where the metal waste from the city was re-processed. The center of the room dropped away into nothingness; the actual smelter was as far below as the bottom of the canyon around which the crescent-shaped city was built. They re-engaged their adversary on the railless ledge which ran around the perimeter of the chamber.

The place had no exit, save the way they had entered. There was no way any of them would be able to make a quick retreat that direction; the laser fields prevented anything so spontaneous. The Sith Lord understood this as well - it was here in these dangerous close quarters where he meant to make a stand, and he fought now with renewed vigor. Qui-Gon had just begun to wonder if it had been his intention to lead them here from the first when the dark lord abruptly smashed the centerpiece handle of his blade into the Jedi Master's face. Staggering, Qui-Gon reeled back, stunned, his own weapon flying from his hands. He shook his head, momentarily dazed, hearing a parry nearby. Blinking, he saw Obi-Wan fighting the enemy alone.

The old woman appeared once more - if she'd ever truly left. Smiling now, she held something out to him - a light saber. Without thinking, he took it; as he did so, her image vanished. With it, he felt something else change, though he wasn't quite sure what it was, and didn't have time to ponder its meaning. He powered on the light saber he'd been handed and struck the dark lord from behind with its blue blade.

The man went down, a surprised look on his face; his weapon flickered out and clattered over the edge of the precipice. Both Jedi powered theirs off as well, approaching the other man with caution, for he wasn't quite yet dead. He stared up at them, his eyes still a menacing yellow, and grimaced. Then, with the last of his strength, he hove himself into the pit.

Together, they watched him fall. When at last they looked up at each other, Qui-Gon said, "Did you see her?"

"See who?" asked Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon looked down at the weapon in his hand; it was not his. The hilt was smaller and lighter, though well-balanced; the light saber of a woman. His large hand nearly swallowed it. The bright utilitarian lighting picked out the engraved initials _L.S.S._ inside the cowling of the hilt.

"Where did you get that?" Obi-Wan asked him. "I saw him kick yours off the ledge."

"No doubt why I was able to surprise him."

"Well, yes, but ..."

"She gave it to me."

"Who is this 'she' you keep talking about?"

Qui-Gon glanced at his padawan and sighed.

"A Jedi," he said, hesitating a moment before adding, "But not any known to me."

"Then it must be her light saber," Obi-Wan concluded, choosing not to pump his master for information he knew would be forthcoming if the man so chose to provide him with it.

"Oh, no doubt," Qui-Gon agreed, turning the hilt over in his hands. It was an unusual design - a smooth cylinder with an elliptical cowling to protect the nozzle. "She kept us from getting separated. When you fell." He looked up.

At one time, Obi-Wan would have apologized for his misstep; Qui-Gon was glad to see he'd progressed beyond that now. Truly he was ready for his trials, he thought.

"Master," the younger man began uncertainly, "When he struck you, I parried his blade away. If I hadn't been there ..."

"I would have been killed," Qui-Gon finished for him. "Interesting."

"Interesting?" Obi-Wan asked incredulously.

Ignoring his tone, Qui-Gon calmly replied, "If she hadn't stopped me, I would have jumped immediately down to re-engage him. He and I would have been far ahead of you, and the laser fields in that access corridor..." - he pointed - "... would have separated us."

Obi-Wan didn't reply.

"It was as if she knew ..." Qui-Gon ruminated to himself.

"You think she deliberately acted to prevent your death?"

"Possibly both our deaths," Qui-Gon suggested. "Remember, she handed me this..." - he held up the light saber - "... when you were fighting alone." He turned it over in his hand a final time, then hooked it onto his belt. "I think it far more likely she meant to ensure that Anakin is trained by the Jedi."

"Oh, not that again," said Obi-Wan tiredly. "Master, you can't be thinking of saying such a thing to the Council, surely."

Qui-Gon regarded his pupil silently. Obi-Wan was a grown man now, and ready for the trials, as he had told the Council himself. It was unlikely that, in the time left to him as his master, he would be able to influence his opinion on this subject, since he had not so far managed to do so. Time would instead prove his decision the correct one, if the Force willed it so. He therefore made no reply to his padawan's question.

"There is one immediate need this event has pointed out to me," he said as he started for the exit passage.

"And what is that?"

The older man stopped and looked back at his apprentice.

"If I should die," he said, "I would like for you to ensure Anakin is trained."

The other's eyes grew round.

"Me?"

"Yes, you. You're well able to train a padawan of your own, once your trials have been passed - and they will be very shortly."

"I wish you wouldn't ask that of me, Master."

"I know you do," came the equitable reply as the laser shield cycled to the off position and they stepped through. "However, there is no one else I can ask. You wouldn't want my old master to train him, would you?"

"Dooku?" asked Obi-Wan, aghast. "No, of course, not." Then, evidently realizing that what he said might be a bit harsh, tried to qualify his reaction with, "I mean ..."

"No need to explain," Qui-Gon cut him off. "Dooku is far too cynical where the Jedi Order is concerned. It would be nearly as bad as having the Sith train him."

At the younger man's shocked expression, the Jedi Master laughed.

"No, I guess not quite that bad," he admitted jokingly as they re-entered the cavernous power center. Then he grew serious once more. "It hadn't escaped my attention that both times this Sith Lord appeared, Anakin was very close at hand. First on Tatooine, Anakin's home planet, right as the ship carrying him was taking off. And he met us in the hangar bay here, when Anakin was with us."

"With due respect, Master, that doesn't prove anything," Obi-Wan countered. "Several people were present both times, including Queen Amidala."

"But it is a _possible_ conclusion, is it not, Padawan?"

Obi-Wan conceded that it was.

"Therefore it is _possible_ that the Sith are already aware of Anakin's presence," Qui-Gon continued. "And that whether the master or the apprentice is the one remaining, he or she will now be looking for a new apprentice."

"Anakin?" Obi-Wan's tone again bordered on incredulity. "Forgive me, Master, but if they are aware of him, then I can see them wanting to kill him, yes. But deliberately turn him? Wouldn't that be dangerous if the prophecy says he will ultimately cause their destruction?"

"The Sith are known for their passions," the Master replied. "They will be destroyed regardless, whether sooner or later. Even if they manage to kill Anakin, the Force will simply send another to take his place. No, it would no doubt amuse them greatly to turn an instrument of the Light to the darkness."

They walked a few steps in silence, until finally Obi-Wan spoke.

"The Council is afraid he might turn to the darkness without any help from the Sith," he offered.

"Without help?" Qui-Gon scoffed. "I doubt it." He stopped walking and faced his grown apprentice squarely. "But I do acknowledge that it will not be easy to train him, for many of the reasons the Council has cited."

Obi-Wan's face lifted.

"And that is why I will need your help," his master concluded. "While he is not 'too old' to train, he is starting much later than any of the other padawans his age. That missing time must be made up, not just by you and me, but by many of the other Jedi at the temple. The Council will resist this; I need you firmly on my side until they can be brought around."

Qui-Gon watched as Obi-Wan fought to wipe the pained expression from his face. Hesitantly, he opened his mouth to speak, but his master pre-empted his concerns.

"I don't expect you to defy the Council, Obi-Wan," he assured him. "Simply help with his training; don't take a padawan of your own until he has caught up with the others, not just in being able to manipulate the Force (at which I suspect he will quickly excel), but in _all_ aspects of our training. Be there for him to support him when I cannot. Be a role model. You may not realize it, but you yourself are far closer to the Jedi ideal than many of those on the Council."

Mollified, Obi-Wan nodded.

"Thank you, Master, although I can't agree with your assessment of the Council's worthiness. But I had not planned to take a padawan for a few years at least. Helping you with yours would be quite welcome as training for when I do."

Qui-Gon smiled.

"It's settled, then," he said, clapping the younger man on the back. "Let's go see how the queen made out. Something tells me her plan was a success."


	3. Part 3

Part III

Together, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan walked in to face the council.

"Confer upon you the rank of Jedi Knight, the Council does," Yoda said to Obi-Wan, who knelt in acknowledgment. Stepping forward, the ancient Jedi Master reached up and clipped his padawan braid away. Catching it, he offered it to the new knight, who bowed reverently as he took it. Obi-Wan had returned early from Naboo to face his trial, which he'd passed with an ease that had surprised him.

Qui-Gon smiled, then turned his attention to Yoda once again.

"Know we do that Anakin you wish to take as your new padawan," the old master said. "Agree I cannot with this. Grave danger I have sensed in his training."

"Have you sensed this since our defeat of the Sith on Naboo?" Qui-Gon asked pointedly. He felt Obi-Wan stiffen beside him at the challenge in his voice, and he heard at least one of the masters gasp, but he held to his purpose.

Master Windu began to speak, but Yoda held up a hand to stay him.

"A difference I have felt since then," the ancient master admitted, "Understand it I do not. Nevertheless, the boy's future still clouded is."

Qui-Gon nodded and explained how the Jedi woman had appeared to intervene in their fight two times. When he finished, he offered her light saber to the diminutive master.

Master Yoda took the light saber and examined it thoughtfully.

"Recognize her you did not, you say?" he inquired.

"No, Master," came the reply.

"And see her you did not," he said to Obi-Wan.

"I was too far away the first time," the newly minted Jedi Knight told him. "And the second time, I was rather busy. But I've thought about it, and I might have felt something through the Force, but assumed afterward it was simply Qui-Gon's striking the fatal blow."

Yoda's large brown eyes fixed on Obi-Wan.

"Felt something?" he asked, his ears pricking up. "What did you feel?"

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, feeling momentarily as if he were back in a classroom.

"It's difficult to describe," he said. "Something opening up, like a door, or ..." He trailed off as description failed him.

But the old master nodded.

"Through time she came," he said simply.

"You knew about this?" Qui-Gon asked curiously.

Yoda nodded. "Felt it I did. The fabric of time opening." He stared down at the weapon in his hand. "Powerful she was."

"Did she come from the past or the future?" Obi-Wan asked, feeling emboldened by being included in the discussion so far.

"Impossible to say," the old master told him in a tone which seemed to say the topic was at an end.

"I believe she intervened so that Anakin would be trained by the Jedi," Qui-Gon said bluntly.

Master Windu finally spoke up.

"And you think you are the only person capable of training him?" he asked, more than a hint of sarcasm tinging his voice.

"No," Qui-Gon hastily admitted. "In fact I believe successfully training him will require the help of many of those in this room. However, I do not think it is any great secret that the council has been opposed to training him since he first arrived. Therefore I do believe, for that reason, that without me he might not be trained."

"Wrong you are," Yoda told him severely, his tone one of rebuke. "The council has agreed - he must be trained."

Qui-Gon bowed in acknowledgment.

"I stand corrected, masters," he said simply.

"Your new padawan he is," Yoda told him dismissively.

But Qui-Gon did not permit himself to be dismissed quite yet.

"I would request that Obi-Wan assist me with Anakin's training."

Yoda stared at him sharply.

"Always one master for one padawan there is," he said.

"As there should be," Qui-Gon agreed, "in a normal situation. However, this situation is not normal. Anakin is the Chosen One, and, as the council has pointed out on several occasions, he has missed the early training received by the other padawans. For this reason, I am requesting that Obi-Wan assist me until Anakin has caught up with the training for his age level."

Yoda shifted his glare momentarily to Obi-Wan.

"I'm quite willing to help with this, Master Yoda," the younger man assured him.

The tiny Jedi Master huffed and glanced at Master Windu, but the council second said nothing, simply sat with his chin cupped in his hand, a thoughtful expression on his face. Yoda looked back at them.

"Agreed," he finally said.

"You really think the two of us can make up for six years of missed training?" Obi-Wan asked after they'd left the Council chambers. When he got no immediate answer, he added, "Master Yoda still thinks he's dangerous."

At these words, Qui-Gon stopped and faced his former padawan.

"He is dangerous because he's fearful," he explained. "That is why we are going to take immediate steps to stem that fear. Once he has nothing to be afraid of, he can be trained - even by just the two of us - to control it, just as we can."

With that, he set off, and Obi-Wan had to scramble to keep up with his long strides once again.

"What steps are you talking about?" he demanded when he finally came alongside the much taller man.

"We're going to free his mother," Qui-Gon said shortly.

"Free her?" Obi-Wan wasn't sure he heard correctly. "You can't mean to bring her here," he added, his mind jumping to the first logical conclusion it found. "The Jedi have no precedent for that - not to mention no facilities to support her."

"I don't mean to bring her here, no," Qui-Gon assured him, then stopped, a detail clicking into place for the first time. Obi-Wan had stayed with the ship the entire time they'd been on Tatooine, he realized. He might not even be aware of the situation. He took a deep breath, then said, "Obi-Wan, Anakin was a slave. His mother still is one; I was unable to free her when we were there. That is the source of his fear; she has no free will - she cannot control her own destiny or what happens to her, and he is no longer there to see that she is all right."

"A slave?" Obi-Wan repeated, shocked. "But slavery is illegal ..."

"In the Republic," Qui-Gon corrected him. "Tatooine is not in the Republic. It's controlled by the Hutts, who traffic in slavery on an unfortunately regular basis."

"But there is not even any point to slavery," Obi-Wan insisted. "Droids can do everything a slave can do - better even, because they don't become fatigued."

"Unfortunately, there are any number of people who prefer slaves because they enjoy dominating others," the older man explained. He paused a moment, then said, "While we were still on Naboo, I spoke with Queen Amidala. She wanted to award Anakin at their upcoming festival for destroying the Nemoidian mother ship, but as a prospective Jedi, he could not accept. As an alternative, I suggested that Naboo might free his mother. She agreed; what's more, she even found her employment if Shmi - that is his mother's name - wishes to accept it. It seems the queen's father runs an organization that resettles refugees and needs someone to help him. But she would have to move to Naboo; it would be her choice, once she is no longer beholden to an owner."

Again, he turned to hurry away and Obi-Wan raced to catch up.

"Okay," he said, "That makes sense. But where are we going in such a hurry?"

"We are going to Naboo for the celebration, and then on to Tatooine," Qui-Gon told him without breaking his stride. "Anakin must see for himself that his mother is free and hear her choose what she does afterward. We will then transport her to Naboo or another world of her choosing - Anakin mentioned that they were not originally from Tatooine. This will be a critical but necessary step in teaching him to let go of her, and both of us should be present for it."

They reached the youngling practice hall and found Anakin sitting on the bleachers, watching the other children his age sparring with light sabers on the floor below. He perked up when he saw them.

Qui-Gon looked down at him severely and Anakin's smile slowly evaporated. Then Qui-Gon laughed.

"Let's go, Padawan," he said. "You need to visit the temple barber."

A big smile split Anakin's face.

"Yippee!!!" he cried.

_The End_

* * *

_Author's Note: Thank you for reading; I hope you enjoyed the story. I'm adding this now - several weeks after I posted the last chapter - because I've noticed several people checkmarking "story alert" for this story. The story is completed - "story alert" isn't going to really do anything except clutter up your story alert page. If you like the story enough to want it to continue, I'm sorry to say I have no present plans to do that - however if I someday decide to follow up with a sequel to it, I will post the sequel separately, not attach it to this story. So "story alert" will still not work for that. Sorry for any confusion I may have caused by ending here; I wanted to write something to offset the sheer miserableness of the EU, but was not prepared to undertake re-writing the entire PT and then some._


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